The Bench

What have I become, this once so solid flesh?

A memory brought to mind in an instant;

To those dearest to me, forever fresh.

To some I am an afterthought, a topic to reminisce,

The boy who broke the classroom window,

The one with whom you shared your first kiss.

The man who always wore highly polished shoes

And in latter days walked with a hand carved cane.

He challenged the council over the by-pass plans

And made a stand the day that the bulldozers came.

For those I have an engraved plaque on the bench

Bought in lieu of funeral flowers, as my want.

The plaque simply spells out my name and dates

Of birth and death in clear, plain sans serif font.

Colin Beardshall 2014

The Mirror

Go towards the mirror.

Relax, take in the view.

See the bright light shining?

Yes that really is you.

You are seeing your full potential.

Think of all that you can do;

Write a book, paint a picture.

Start your life anew.

Maybe you won’t achieve greatness,

But there is no harm in trying.

A journey starts with a single step.

Not to take it is self denying.

So stride on proudly along the way,

Always following the light.

Be mindful of your surroundings

And never give up the fight.

Two Left Feet

I was born with two left feet

Slave to the rhythm,

victim of the beat.

Getting me on to the dance floor

Is like getting a vegan

through a butcher’s shop door.

My skills in dance are virtually nil,

If only there was a magical pill

That would make me dance like Fred Astaire,

Then I would dance most anywhere.

Hercules

Hercules, such a sturdy horse;

Retired from the local force.

Match day duty, his no more,

Brave Hercules.

Put to grass on a quiet farm

Kept well fed and safe from harm

No noisy crowds or blaring alarms

For Hercules.

Loved by all who passed his way.

Fed best oats and good fresh hay

A juicy apple would make his day

Dear Hercules.

Soon his body could not take

Another winter, his muscles ached

A sad decision they had to make

Poor Hercules.

In the field where he once stood

Stands a horse now made of wood

Gone forever the flesh and blood

Of Hercules.

Colin Beardshall 2014

Fragments

Our names are our identity,

How we are known in the world.

Family and friends fix us in their minds

With an appellation given at birth.

We are our name whatever we do

Even if we change it through deed poll,

Or become famous under another.

Our name will always say us.

But how are we to be remembered

If we fail to make a mark.

When we die our name lives on

Only in the memories of those who knew us.

Some, who live notable lives

Have names that survive the years,

Filling the pages of history books.

Greater still are those that are carved

In marble or granite, life eternal is theirs.

The heroes and the powerful,

The loved and the loathed

All achieve immortality in stone

While we, the common people

Are lucky to leave a fragment of bone,

We are fragments.

Fragments of a memory.

Colin Beardshall 2014

Bourton on the Water

The sun dappled branches of an old crack willow

Provide coolness and shade on a hot summer’s day.

She lay there using my lap for a pillow,

While I watched the river in a nonchalant way.

We had come to this spot on our Cotswolds break,

Enjoying the sun, the birds and the flowers.

The clear, bright water, a meandering snake.

A scene so serene we could sit here for hours.

Colin Beardshall 2013.

Beach Huts

Beach huts, lined up

Rainbow coloured hues.

How to know

The sun, no show

When is summer due?

Take a chance, a quick glance

ascertain the weather.

stick out hand,

wet or dry?

Forecasting isn’t clever.

Colin Beardshall 2014